


(Un)forgivable

by yellowgirl2202



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, F/M, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy - Freeform, One Shot, Pining Draco Malfoy, draco deserved better, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowgirl2202/pseuds/yellowgirl2202
Summary: Draco Malfoy, the unwilling heir of a sinister legacy.Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age.A collection of scenes in which Draco and Hermione, if given the chance, could have lived very different lives.Together.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	(Un)forgivable

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to make this a series but I will publish this scene as a one-shot while I write the rest. This scene is a reworking of the Boggart DADA class in Prisoner of Azkaban
> 
> Thanks Emmiesage

Draco waltz into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with his typical air of arrogance, framed by Crabbe and Goyle like gargoyles on a gothic cathedral. Draco prepared to take his usual seat when he noticed the large wooden wardrobe at the front of the room, the desks pushed against the stone wall. The wardrobe rattled dangerously, barely containing whatever Lupin had put inside. 

“Good morning, class. Today we are going to learn how to face and defeat a Boggart. Now, can anyone tell me what a Boggart is?” Lupin had barely finished the question when Granger’s hand shot into the air. Although he hadn’t been looking for her, he couldn’t quite remember when she had appeared in the class. “Boggarts are shapeshifters that assume the shape of their victims deepest fear, but it is still undiscovered what their true form is.”

“Excellent work, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor.” Granger beamed with pride. _Know-it-all-Granger always has to be bloody right_. “So, as you can imagine, a creature configuring itself into your darkest fears can be extremely daunting, and if confronted with one, the result may be disastrous. But what is the one thing that can conquer fear? Joy. Laughter. Therefore, we use laughter to defeat a Boggart, turning the thing you fear into something funny and rendering it ineffectual. This is accomplished through the Boggart-banishing charm, _Riddikulus_.” Lupin continued his explanation, bringing Longbottom to the front and whispering in his ear. The metal latch of the wardrobe was unfastened with the flick of a wand, and slowly, ever so slowly, the door began to creak open. There was a moment of silence as the thing inside began to transform, then long, pale fingers wrapped menacingly around the door and Snape, or at least a convincing likeness of him, emerged. Longbottom was visibly stricken. His voice cracked as he attempted the charm, but on his second attempt, he spoke with stronger conviction and–

“Riddikulus!” The pseudo-Snape stumbled back and was suddenly clothed in an ancient green dress with disturbing taxidermy cat and vulture accessories. The room erupted with laughter and even Draco chuckled quietly to himself. Despite his earlier disinterest, Draco had to admit seeing Snape in that hat was exceedingly gratifying. 

But the reality of the situation began to sink in. His worst fears, something undiscovered even to himself, were about to be exposed. In front of Potter, Weasley and Granger of all people! Students began to push themselves into some semblance of a single line, eager for their turn, but Draco attempted to slip from view. He had made it almost halfway across the room and was nearing the door when he was surrounded by three pushing students, ignorant of his escape plan and nudging themselves forwards. Trapped in the crowd, Draco resigned himself, steeling his face into a calm, aloof expression. If he couldn’t escape, he could at least face the bloody thing with dignity. From his place in the line, Draco could barely see the Boggart shifting rapidly between its’ configurations, but as he grew closer, he began to glimpse the ever-changing figure. As each student faced it, Draco crept slowly forward. Reluctant but determined. 

A swarm of glowing bugs. An enormous spider. What appeared to be an angry, homophobic Mother. Each form was manifested and defeated with laughter. The bugs becoming a string of Christmas lights, the spider’s eight legs fitted with roller-skates. The Mother’s shouting voice replaced with the wails of a baby. 

As Millicent Bulstrode stepped forward, rather than materialising into a physical form, the Boggart fell to the floor and created a vast, plummeting drop beneath her feet, as if she were balanced on the edge of a cliff. She was frozen stiff. Looking down at the immeasurable slope she began to hyperventilate and lose control, the image rapidly shifting to mimic falling. Lupin tried to keep her focused and calm, but she just shook her head and cowered away. He stopped the Boggart for her, casting a haze over the sinking cliff until it reappeared as a childish chalk drawing of itself.

_This is cruel. Why couldn’t we face a boggart in private?_

“This is,” Draco bit back _unfair_ , “ridiculous,” he whispered to no one in particular.

Draco was briefly distracted from his brooding by a Gryffindor turning a particularly vicious looking dog into a balloon animal that went zipping and barking around the room. But as he drew closer to the front of the line, now only a few feet from the Boggart before him, he felt his pulse begin to quicken. It was one thing to witness another’s fear. A momentary observation that held no bearing on his life. But to have his own fears, his very soul, projected so publicly was something entirely inconceivable. As he tried to keep his composure, his hands began to shake and his jaw tightened until he felt it click. Draco inched closer and closer to the inevitable, heartbeat building to a crescendo. Potter stepped forward and the room fell silent as the Boggart, now morphed into a large toy clown, much more disturbing than the snake had ever been, continued to rock forwards and back. It regarded him with a discerning eye, peering into his very being to unearth his hidden fears. A few seconds ticked by, the clown lurching forwards, before finally morphing into the darkened figure of a dementor. 

It floated in a halo of emptiness, its aura sucking the life from the air around it, leaving nothing but void. A skeletal hand. A coldness that wrapped around the bones like ice water. And that wheezing, scraping sound of its unnatural breath. 

Draco shivered and flinched.

Draco expected Potter, _famous bloody Potter_ , to spring into action and defeat the shadowy bastard with heroic flair, but he was too shocked to move. Frozen. Potter was barely given time to compose himself when Lupin stepped in to shield him, the figure transforming into something resembling a crystal ball, glowing and full. With practised ease, Lupin sent the thing sailing backwards toward the open wardrobe from which it came, shutting the door behind it and closing the latch with a metallic click. As the Boggart tried to escape, the woodwork creaked and stretched with the strain, creating the illusion of a deep inhale, before finally settling back into a calm stillness.

“Right, well, that’s enough for today. Class dismissed. I expect one roll of parchment summarising your readings of Boggarts by Monday morning.”  
A collective groan of disappointment swept through the classroom, but Draco did not share their sentiment. A blink and he was darting for the door, forcing his way through the crowd and hoping that his startled face came across as haughtiness rather than fear.

___

Draco leaned against a stone wall in a hidden crevice of an empty hallway. He had been hyperventilating for the better part of five minutes but had finally gotten himself to some semblance of normalcy. 

_Stupid. Pathetic. What sort of a Malfoy are you? Get yourself together, Coward!_

He rubbed his face with his hands, roughly stretching the skin. His eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration and disappointment, but he kept them at bay. He pressed the heel of his palms over his eyes, not roughly enough to hurt, but just enough to surround him in darkness. A momentary reprieve. He often did this when he was alone and his thoughts became too loud for him to bear, resting his eyes in his palms and slipping into a serene emptiness. It was like a safety net, a child’s favourite blanket. It was familiar and comforting. A pillow-fort of soft darkness. Draco evened out his breathing, slowly lifting his hands and re-entering the brightness of the corridor. Draco lifted his head, fixed his face into its signature smirk and prepared to waltz into the Great Hall as normal when he felt an absence in his cloak pocket. Rather than the reassuring weight of his wand, Draco was met with nothing but emptiness and upon closer inspection, discovered his wand was missing.  
_Shit._

The only place it could be was back in the classroom with Lupin, so he turned on his heel and headed for back the way he had come. As Draco reached the door, he expected to find no one still inside, but to his surprise heard voices from within. The oaken door stood ajar and as Draco peered through, he saw Lupin conversing with none other than Know-it-all-Granger. Their backs were turned away from him, bent over a desk and scanning a selection of books and parchment, but Draco recognised her immediately. He couldn’t hear what they were saying from outside, but he wasn’t particularly interested. As quietly as he could, Draco crept into the classroom, hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself as he searched for his wand. But just as he spotted it tucked underneath a desk, Lupin began to turn, and Draco hid behind a stone column. 

“Thank you, Sir. I’ll go look for those in the library right away. But before I go Professor, could I suggest something?” Draco didn’t hear Lupin’s reply, but he assumed it was affirmative.

“Would it be possible for future classes to, perhaps, not face a Boggart in front of the class? I understand seeing the charm used is valuable, but surely something so deeply personal shouldn’t be shared. People can be cruel as I’m sure you’re aware and giving someone the power to know your deepest fear could be…” she paused, clearly distressed but regaining her composure. “I just don’t want anyone’s fears to be used against them. I would never tell you how to do your job, but I was just concerned, Sir.” Lupin nodded solemnly. From Draco’s place behind a pillar, he saw him trace one of the scars on his face, deep in thought.

“Yes, I do believe you’re right, Miss Granger. I don’t know why it hadn’t come to me before. I will make sure everyone who missed their chance to face the Boggart today has a second opportunity, in private. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs will also be given the same courtesy next lesson. I’m sorry if I distressed you in any way.” She shook her head rapidly, frizzy curls swaying. “Not at all, Professor.” Something about her too-happy voice made Draco doubt her certainty, even without seeing her face. As Granger headed for the door and Lupin began to climb the stairs to his office, Draco crept from his hiding place. The wardrobe, still at the front of the room, shook for a moment but Draco paid it no mind. Another step forward and the wardrobe made another lurching movement, this time much more violently. Draco rushed forwards, hoping to grab his wand before someone turned to see him, but just as his hand reached out, the golden latch snapped off and the door burst open, releasing the Boggart within. 

Draco’s heart stopped dead cold as a dark mist raced around the room, up into the rafters before coming down right in front of him. The shadow grew tall, growing tendrils to replicate a human shape before the mist dispersed, and Draco was faced with Lord Voldemort. His father had told him stories of the Dark Lord; described him in so much vivid detail. Draco couldn’t even be certain if this figure was an accurate representation or just a manifestation of his own understanding. Nevertheless, Draco was helpless against the sinister figure. His skin was so pale it was translucent, his slitted pupils were gashes in the glowing red of his eyes. Draco had heard of some muggle story about the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Voldemort looked like the embodiment of them all. War, famine, pestilence and death. Draco instinctively stepped back, but Voldemort followed almost leisurely. 

“Come now, Draco. There’s no need to be afraid.” His voice was unnerving. There was a serpentine hiss to it, but while Draco wasn’t certain, something underneath sounded familiar. Another step backwards, eyes fixed on the menacing smile. “You and I both know your purpose, Draco.” Something in the voice broke through for a moment, cutting through the hiss and becoming clearer. “Think of what we will achieve.” Now it wasn’t just the voice. Voldemort’s face was twisting unnaturally, rearranging itself while he spoke. “You _will_ make me proud, won’t you?” Draco faltered and slipped onto his back, barely registering the sting in his tailbone. Voldemort no longer stood before him. 

“Join me, my son.” His father reached out his hand, the inky mark on his forearm writhing against his skin. His face was flickering like a broken light, flashing glimpses of the red eyes and crooked smile, but returning to the familiar shape of his father’s distinguished brow and sharp cheekbones.

Draco wanted to cry, to scream or to fight but he was numb. It was like someone had peeled away his skin, pulled his muscles from their bones and captured his essence, thrusting forward as if to say _Look at me! The pathetic Draco Malfoy!_ Laid bare. 

Draco heard movement behind him but didn’t dare turn his gaze from his father’s steel-grey eyes until his vision was blocked by something above him. Draco looked up and saw Granger standing over him, defending him, her wand raised like a threat. He saw Lupin had descended the stairs, his wand also at hand, but it was Granger who had captured Draco’s attention. She stood her ground, furious and protective. He saw his father smirk at her, and when he opened his mouth to speak–

“Put your wand away, silly girl. You’ll only embarrass yourself.” The voice was undeniable. With a lurching twist, Draco’s father was replaced with another familiar face.

“Professor?” Granger kept her wand steady but was clearly stricken by this unexpected appearance. “Why do you continue this foolishness, Miss Granger?” For a moment, she looked confused, but as realisation washed over her, Draco saw her stiffen. She cast a glance down at Draco, catching his eye for a moment. 

“Professor, please stop.”

“You are playing dress up, my dear. Parading around pretending to be something you’re so clearly not.” Granger was still shielding Draco, but he could see her resolve slowly crumbling. The quasi-McGonagall sneered at her.

“You are not fit for this school, Miss Granger. How could you ever be?” Something crossed her face, something that made Draco’s heart ache for a moment, as her wand began to lower.

“You are a failure as a witch, Miss Granger. Believing otherwise is a fool’s errand.” Draco could have sworn he saw her nod in agreement. “Return to your Muggle parents, you disgrace! You embarrassment! You filthy little Mu–”

“RIDDIKULIS!”

Granger roared into life, out of panic or courage Draco could not tell, but McGonagall shrunk from her towering position, transfiguring into a cat and batting at a ball of wool. Granger’s wand was still raised, and from his position on the ground, Draco could see her chest rising and falling dangerously fast. She quickly regained her control and lowered her wand, but not before Draco noticed her hand trembling violently. For a brief moment, they locked eyes. Where Draco expected to see anger or disgust, he saw only fear. Shame. Vulnerability. He waited with bated breath. For her to lash out, cry, beg for him to forget what he had seen. But nothing came. She held out her hand to him, offering to help him up. His wounded pride screamed at him to run before he could embarrass himself further, but too shocked to consider the consequences, Draco reached out and grasped her hand. 

She was so soft. He had no idea how it was possible. Even his Mother, a woman of prestige and luxury, had callouses from needlework on her delicate hands. He didn’t realise he was already standing until their hands had been connected for what felt like an eternity. He quickly pulled away, trying to come up with something clever or sarcastic to remark. But all he could muster was–

“Thanks, Granger.”

After all the excitement, Draco had almost forgotten why he had come. He quickly retrieved his wand from under the desk, keeping a watchful eye on the McGonagall-cat, but Lupin was already depositing the damned thing to a heavy-looking chest from his office and sealing the bolts. With a glance behind him, Draco saw Granger watching him with expressions of concern, before escaping into the empty corridor.


End file.
